


necktie*

by yuminpa



Category: A Hat in Time (Video Game)
Genre: Alternative End, Bad Ending, Gen, Hanging, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD do NOT, Suicide, Suicide Notes, noose (except it's a tie), read this if you don't like the topics listed., too much angst for the source, trigger warning, way too much!, youve been warned!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22724467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuminpa/pseuds/yuminpa
Summary: what if the metal beam didn't break?
Comments: 20
Kudos: 82





	necktie*

**Author's Note:**

> what am i even doing...  
> ANYWAY HI. don't confuse this with the original less gut wrenching story. that's why i put the asterisk (*) at the top, so you can differentiate from the two:)
> 
> if necktie fucked you up, then oh boy you're not ready for this.  
> thank you for reading, though. even if you left when you saw the trigger warning, even if you don't see this note, thanks for visiting.  
> necktie means a lot to me and i hope it means a lot to you too.  
> i love you

So far, nobody had noticed. 

  
  


The day had passed as normal. The boring schedule; the same as yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. 

Recording. And recording. And recording. 

The incessant yelling from the unnecessarily aggressive Conductor, who only wanted this movie to turn out well— and the occasional encouragement that came from DJ Grooves— to both his cast and his rival’s, surprisingly. Probably because Grooves knew that Conductor  _ never  _ gave them any sort of encouragement— and perhaps he knew those nervous Express Owls needed that little boost to get through the monotonous day of recording. 

But something was amiss. 

The studio had a creepy vibe to it. 

Why?

To put it simply _ , that night was the night Conductor knew he would die.  _

Later that night, he would kill himself, using his tie, which would hopefully be a good compromise as no ropes were readily available, despite this being a movie studio— and a metal beam tied to the wall somewhere in a storage room in the basement. 

The Conductor was going to kill himself. 

  
  


But nobody knew.  _ Nobody _ . Not even Grooves, who was supposedly great at detecting this sort of stuff.

Some owls had the suspicion that something was wrong with the Conductor, as he was more quiet than usual that day, and the littlest things set him off, even if they hadn't before. 

But sooner or later, they all brushed it off and told each other that ‘he was just tired’.

Sometimes, he heard them, and it only made him feel even worse. 

The voice at the back of his mind telling him that nobody cared, only got louder and louder as the day went on. 

He couldn't wait for the day to be over, so what he wanted could  _ finally  _ happen…

  
  
  
  
  


The end of the day came, eventually. 

The pitter-patter of rain against the exterior echoed through the whole studio. 

Speaking about the studio: it was closed, but some owls and some penguins were lingering, to find some new props down in the basement for tomorrow, which was going to be, again, a full day of filming. 

Conductor sighed, and walked down to the basement, his gaze down at the stairs, his mind totally blank, in a trance-like state. 

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” He heard someone ask.

_ Oh, look. Maybe someone cares about you. They might ask you what's going on.  _

He looked up, his trance broken, and noticed that it was Grooves. He had an uncharacteristic worried look on his face, as if something was bothering him. 

_ Better not peck it up like you always do when someone tries to help you.  _

Alas— Despite wanting to know what the moon penguin wanted to ask him, the Conductor scowled and shoved past him. 

“Peck off.” 

The Conductor would've walked off, but Grooves stopped him in his tracks again, his worried expression intensifying. 

_ Someone cares. Weird.  _

“Conductor, please—”

“No!  _ Go away!”  _ He pushed the penguin away for the final time, and stormed off to where he wanted to go. 

Grooves stood there, watching him for a couple moments. Deep down, he  _ knew  _ something odd was going on. 

But the Conductor wouldn't tell him what. 

_ No need to force him though, _ he thought,  _ he’ll be able to say something when he's ready. _

Grooves slowly walked away. 

  
  
  


The Conductor made it to his little storage room. He would usually spend his time down in this room, if he wanted to be alone or brainstorm. That's why he had a desk in the corner. 

But the concept of brainstorming anything had become null to him; empty bottles of booze lay on the desk, overshadowing the papers filled with draft scripts and brainstorms. 

He closed the door, sighed, and turned on the dim light. 

He hadn't replaced the bulb in ages– but that's not a problem,  _ he won't need to soon.  _

He stared at the metal beam hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the room, and for a reason he couldn't understand, he smiled. 

_ Finally, _ he thought.  _ I will get what I deserve. _

His first attempt didn't go well. 

It was disguised as a movie—  _ Train Rush _ , it was called. 

He wasn't expecting to survive it, and yet, he did. 

“Curse that hatted lass,” he started mumbling to himself, taking off his tie. “If she hadn't diffused the bomb, I would've gotten what I deserve ages ago. Painlessly, with me train! Around what I love!...” He smiled, put a hand to his head, and sighed. 

“I guess I deserve worse, though.”

He sighed shakily and stared at the neatly folded note on the desk that he had written the night before. 

He winced at the details of said note: it was a suicide note— he knew that— but he'd rather not dwell on the contents. 

He looked back at the metal beam, holding his tie in his hands tightly, and taking a deep, shaky breath. 

  
  
  


Now that he had shaped his tie into a noose and tied it onto the metal beam— he didn't want to do this anymore. 

His fight or flight response activated, and his heart started to race. 

He was terrified now. 

But he had to do it. 

The voice in the back of his head was continuously chanting,  _ NOW! NOW! NOW! YOU HAVE TO! _

There was nothing else to listen to, but that… it calmed him down, slightly. 

He had gotten to the point of no return and couldn't reverse anything. And that was fine with him. 

He took one last glance at the suicide note he had written, skimming through it, checking if everything was okay, and if not, crossing it out completely or rewriting that part. 

It was rather long, but his scratchy, small handwriting made it look awfully short. 

He folded it back up again and set it on his desk again, his heart racing even more. 

He didn't want this heartbeat. And he was going to take it away from himself. 

  
  


A chair stood near the desk, and he dragged it from there to just above the makeshift noose. 

He started to tremble. But he couldn't stop now– an unknown force was taking over, as if  _ someone had tied strings around his wrists.  _

  
  


Before he knew it, he was standing on the chair, his shirt unbuttoned slightly at the collar, his head poking through the hole at the bottom of the necktie. 

This was happening. 

Right now. 

He looked down a little bit to get the feel of the tie pressing on his neck. 

Satisfying, but also terrifying at the same time. 

His heart was racing and he was trembling, but it was time to get this done. 

He double checked that this would work: every knot in the noose was tight and that it was tied securely around the metal beam. 

Everything was fine. Or, it seemed like it. 

He stood there, on the chair. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and–

  
  


Jumped off. 

—

He gagged, not expecting the sudden pressure. 

He was okay, at first; he daren’t thrash around or make a scene, or try to scream for help; he knew he deserved this, and he wasn't going to let this slide. 

But the pressure on his throat got worse, and worse, and worse…

It hurt…

He couldn't breathe. 

Oh, God, he couldn't breathe. 

  
  


_ WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!? _

He didn't expect to be able to, of course; he knew his method of suicide was going to be like this. 

But he wasn't expecting to feel so strange; wasn't expecting seconds to feel like eternities; and wasn't expecting his basic survival instincts to kick in so incredibly quick. 

Sooner than he expected, he started to thrash around almost violently; desperately trying to reach anything,  _ everything  _ so he could just latch onto something or climb back onto it and  _ live.  _

He started to claw at the purple tie, too. 

He didn't want to survive, but his body did; and all of his dignity seemed to shatter, to disappear. 

He clawed and scratched and pulled at the purple tie around his neck but all it did was tighten, the pressuring feeling getting  _ so much worse.  _

He wanted to scream for help; for Grooves, for an Express Owl, for a Moon Penguin, for  _ anyone _ , but he couldn't. 

He tried to; he tried to scream, to cry, to shout; but all that came out of his mouth was a silent, gurgled sob.

He tried his best. 

  
But, alas; _his best wasn't good enough_. 

He could start to hear strange popping noises, and could see strange white blotches of light despite his eyes being practically glued shut. 

He got weaker, and weaker, and weaker as time went on, and although it was only around twenty seconds, it felt like twenty eternities. 

Slowly, he stopped trashing so violently, and stopped trying to scream, to sob; he knew his attempts were in vain. 

The popping noises seemed to stop, and he opened his eyes; his vision clouded from tears just begging to run down his face.   
So, he let them go.

But then his head drooped even more, and he stopped thrashing and letting out gurgled chokes. 

He was only twitching now. But only slightly.

His eyes were loosely glued shut once again, and he stilled…

  
  
  


_ Goodbye, Connor.   
_ _ :) _

  
  
  
  
  


“Darling, are you in there? I still need to talk to you!” 

Grooves knocked on the door three times, like he usually does so Conductor knows it's him, completely oblivious to what had just happened behind that door. 

No response came from the other side. 

_ Deathly  _ silent. 

Conductor wouldn't say anything if he was mad, madder than usual, but he didn't have any reason to be like that; so Grooves was confused. 

He knocked again. 

“Come on, Conductor, I know you're in there. I really need to talk to you!”

_ Nothing.  _

“Ugh, fine. Darling, if you're gonna be like this, then I'm coming in.”

He went to open the door, grabbing the doorknob; but he felt something strange. 

As if there was a force field stopping him from even twisting the knob. 

As if there was  _ something in there he wasn't meant to see.  _

Something he didn't want to see lurked in the room, but he  _ had  _ to find out what it was. 

So, reluctantly, he twisted the doorknob and opened the door. 

His heart dropped at the sight he was seeing. 

At first, he only saw a mere desk, which was in the middle of the room. 

The room was quite big, and the lights near the corners were rather dim, so he couldn't see well in the corners.

But he made the terrible decision to slightly cock his head to the left. 

He was met with pure darkness at first but once his eyes adjusted he could—

  
  


Huh…?

  
  


_ Oh, my God.  _

_ My God… _

_ Darling...? _

  
  


There he was. 

The Conductor, limp, and frozen, and hanging from what he  _ swore  _ was his favourite tie, his head hanging low. 

Grooves could tell the owl was swaying slightly, but he wasn't moving himself. 

He was frozen, and his claws bled slightly. 

It was the tie, and he had the sudden urge to go grab scissors and cut him down from there…and hug him…and break down into tears…

But he found he was frozen in place. 

Couldn't scream, couldn't cry, couldn't call for help, couldn't dial his phone that was now on the floor for the police. 

Frozen. 

But he could turn his head, and he did; to the desk, and somehow noticed a small note on it. 

He slowly walked towards it. 

He didn't want to believe this was Conductor’s fate. He just wanted to believe that poor owl was okay, he was just joking, that was a clone,  _ anything.  _

_ Why did he have to go like that? _

Eventually, Grooves got to the desk and monotonously picked up the surprisingly tidy note on the white desk, unfolding it carefully and reading  _ every word.  _

It read:

  
  


_ Hey.  _

_ So…I guess it's all over, huh? _

_ I'm home now. God finally decided to take me back. _

_ I don't know who's reading this; but whoever picks this up, please, keep reading.  _

_ Call the police after you're done, if you can. If not, get someone else to do it for you. They'll know exactly what to do.  _

_ I have so much I want to say that I couldn't say when I was alive, because I was scared.  _

_ So, here we go.  _

  
  


_ When I first started working at this studio, it was great. I had tons of fun. I was exactly where I wanted to be, even if I was annoyed that I was sharing a studio with Josh; I didn't care for the most part. I was happy! And so was he, from the looks of it! :) _

_ But, keyword: WAS.  _

_ Sooner or later, quicker than I’d like to admit, that all came crashing down, and I slowly lost all my empathy. My kindness. My happiness. Everything. It was all gone.  _

_ Working at the studio was amazing, but good things never last, do they? _

_ I'm not sure why. Maybe because of my daughter's death, and when my grandchildren were stuck with a pecking bastard as a father, and I unfortunately couldn't take them in. I became cold and heartless and and apathetic to everybody I met and everybody I interacted with and then, my ex wife left.  _

_ And then I picked up drinking. Suicidal thoughts creeped up, too.  _

_ It was inevitable but I wasn't expecting her to leave so soon, I wasn't expecting her to say the awful things she said.  _

~~**_“I'd be happy if you ended up dead one day, y’know.”_ ** ~~

~~**_“You're not the Connor I fell in love with anymore.”_ ** ~~

~~**_“I don't care if you live or you die.”_ ** ~~

~~**_“All you care about is your studio!”_ ** ~~

~~**_“You know what? I don't care. Go kill yourself. Jump off a bridge, hang yourself from that tie you always wear, overdose on sleeping pills, i don't care as long as y_ ** ~~ _ I wasn't always an angry, bitter owl, you know. I turned into that, purely because of grief.  _

_ But, that's besides the point.  _

_ I am so, truly sorry, for so many things.  _

_ First of all, for…being such a horrible man. For being a horrible conductor. For being a horrible director. For just being me. I am so sorry.  _

_ I'm sorry to whoever has to clean my husk of a body up. Whether it's the police or an Express Owl, or God forbid Josh; I am so sorry.  _

_ Tell the hatted lass I'm sorry, too. She's only young. She might not understand. The next time she comes to this studio, and finds out Josh now owns the whole place; and she asks him, 'where's the Conductor?' _

_ She might not understand what anybody says or won't be able to process my passing as fast as you— the reader— possibly can.  _

_ Don't tell her. Please. _

_ If she ever asks where I am, promise me you'll tell her I quit my job, okay? I'll be watching you, honest. I'll yell at you from heaven haha _

_ See, even after my passing, you're not immune from being called a peck-neck! _

_ Josh, I am so truly sorry for breaking the promise I made to you last night. That's why I was just an inch away from bursting into tears right in your arms.  _

_ If there's one thing I absolutely hate, it's breaking promises, especially to you. I didn't want to say 'I promise' to you when you said that.  _

_ When you said, ‘promise me you're not going to do anything’, I didn't want to say that I promised, because I knew I would break that promise the next day; but hey.  _

_ Now I'm gone. It's all over. You're never going to see me again.  _

_ But hey, you own the studio now. It's all yours, just the way you wanted it from the start, eh? :) _

_ If you're the first person to read this, please just call the police. They'll know what to do with me: they'll see my body, limp and frozen and hanging from my favourite tie. They'll pry me down and take me out of the studio. Who knows what'll happen next? _

_ I don't want you planning any kind of funeral, Josh. I don't want you grieving or mourning. I don't want you hurt.  _

_ It's rather hypocritical, but promise me just one thing: you won't mourn, or grieve, or cry.  _

_ You'll move on, quick, won't you? It's what I would want, after all.  _

_ You'll find someone else. You'll find another director, better than me.  _

_ Hey, maybe I'll be resurrected and I'll come back as, what; a crow. I dunno.  _

_ But promise me, okay? _

_ Now I can understand why you wouldn't be able to do that, or wouldn't want to. But try, please. For me. _

_ When I said 'I love you' last night, although I was drowsy and practically drunk on my lack of sleep; I meant it. I really truly meant it. But I couldn't believe you when you said you loved me, too.  _

_ I love you. I really do. I have for years and I know I always will for eternity.  _

_ I love you, and the studio, and the Express Owls, and the Moon Penguins, and the train, of course. :) _

_ But above all, I love you, Josh.  _

_ Don't feel bad for me or feel like you could've done something to stop me, and most importantly, **DO NOT EVER BLAME YOURSELF. NOT EVEN FOR A SECOND**. _

_ I can rest easy now, and I hope you can, too, reader.  _

_ I'll see you on the other side, yeah? _

_ Eternal love, _

_ Connor _

  
  
  


His mind went numb. 

He couldn't say a word. 

He couldn't  _ do anything  _ except follow the Conductor’s last persistent orders. 

_ Don't cry. Don't mourn, don't grieve, don't plan a funeral.  _

_ Call the police.  _

He couldn't pick up his phone. 

_ Call the police.  _

It was all the way over there. 

_ Call the police.  _

He couldn't. 

_ Call the police.  _

He couldn't. 

_ CALL THE PECKING POLICE, YER IDIOT! I'm not doing it for you!  _

_ I can’t. That's why. Errr… _

_ BUT JUST CALL THE POLICE, OKAY!? They know what to do! _

_ Darling…? _

He could've sworn he could hear him again. He could hear Conductor ordering him to do something  _ for the last time.  _

Though  _ he  _ wasn't alive anymore, Grooves felt his spirit was still there. 

He walked over to the entrance to the room and silently picked up his phone, his expression blank. 

  
  


And he called the police. 

  
  
  
  


They came and went, quicker than he thought. It was all a blur. 

The questions they asked, that he answered with the most monotonous voice he had ever used; a blur.

The strange paramedic birds prying the owl down and taking his husk of a body out into the open, never to be seen by the general public again. 

The Express Owls and Moon Penguins uniting for once but only to express their horror and concern and grief; a blur. 

All Grooves knew is that, he held the Conductor’s last note  _ tight  _ the whole time _ —  _ but not too tight so it didn't tear. 

Hopping in his car and driving home after the day was a blur. 

He was surprised he could even leave Conductor’s old storage room. 

  
  


_ Everything was a mere blur, he didn't see any of it.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


3:22 AM. 

Grooves hadn't slept. He was tired. 

He hadn’t spoken since the paramedics left Dead Bird Studios, despite the Express Owls and Moon Penguins ceaselessly asking him questions. 

His bedroom was pitch black, the only light coming from his phone. 

The last note lay on his desk, folded neatly, just how the Conductor folded it. 

Since he got home he had reread and reread the note over and over, but still, he daren’t cry, despite the expanding lump in his throat. 

He mindlessly scrolled through the messages on his phone. 

He had added Conductor as a contact years ago when he first got it; and this was purely for business reasons, so they could work out who was paying what bills; but they slowly got closer through the texts and they slowly resorted to sending tons of things. 

_ Oh! _

He clicked on a video he found. 

It was of the Conductor and one of his grandkids, who was around one month old at the time. 

It was not recorded by his hand; his daughter was holding the phone and recording. 

He wasn't wearing his usual formal attire, his blazer and his tie; it was something else, much more casual.

Grooves could hear the girl’s voice and could hear her giggling from behind the lens.

The moon penguin was still in a trance, so he couldn't exactly process what he was hearing Conductor say; but he sounded so incredibly happy. 

He started to laugh, too, but Grooves didn't know why he was; and so did the girl behind the camera. 

The video stopped. 

He exited out of it, sighing heavily.

That was the last time Conductor was truly happy, right?

When the babies were born…?

  
  


…

With a heavy heart, DJ Grooves went to call the Conductor. 

He knew the owl was gone. He knew the owl was too broken to carry on with his life. He knew the owl was wheeled out of the studio by the strange bird paramedics. 

He knew this. 

But he swore it wasn't all real; once he pressed the ‘Call’ button, Conductor would be there and okay, right? Even if it  _ was  _ 3AM, he'd pick up the phone with a croaky voice and heavy body, right?

The nightmare would be gone, right? He'd wake up?

  
  


…

  
  


In a vain attempt to bring everything back to normal, he pressed the button, and simply waited. 

  
  


_ Dialling… _

_ Dialling… _

_ Dialling… _

  
  


Nothing. 

No response.

Nothing happened. 

He hung up. 

…

_ I just want Conductor back.  _

_ I want him back.  _

Oh, God…

This wasn't a nightmare, was it?

Grooves was never going to see Conductor again. He was gone, completely. 

The studio was all Grooves’.

But he didn't want that. He wanted someone to split the bills with; he wanted to hear Conductor’s incessant yelling coming from the other half; he wanted to tell the broken owl that he loved him for the  _ last time.  _

He wanted a friend. Maybe even more than that. 

Grooves mindlessly clicked on the video once again, hearing Conductor and his daughter's laughs coming from the phone. 

And then, a rogue tear streamed down his cheek. 

One rogue tear turned to two. 

Two turned to five.

Five turned to more than Grooves could even count. 

The video paused, and he turned his phone off, chucking it to the foot of the bed; and then he curled up, and sobbed. 

Conductor told him not to cry. But he couldn't help it at this point; it was all he could do. 

Dignity left. 

Sobbing turned to wailing.

He was ever so glad he lived alone. 

  
  


_ All he wanted was Conductor to be okay.  _

_ But he's not.  _

_ He's dead. _

  
  
  
  
  


_ Hey, you could die, too, Josh. _

_ You have tons of knives downstairs.  _

_ If you want the Conductor so bad, go find him.  _

_ Go see him in Heaven.  _


End file.
